The Wolf Dragon
by Alayne Stone
Summary: Bowen Marsh's POV of the aftermath of Jon's assassination and rebirth. Featuring Howland Reed, Tycho Nestoris, Stannis, Melisandre and of course, Jon.


Bowen

He had never felt this weary in his entire life.

The snowfall stopped by the morning, and the situation seemed more or less under hand for the last few days. It was Tormund and Melisandre who stopped the wildlings and the queen's men before a massacre would have broken out. Tormund departed with his host and took Wun Wun with him, thinking the wounded giant would be still safer in the wilderness than here, surrounded by vengeful knights.

Queen Selyse smiled when she saw Lord Snow dead, and Bowen Marsh shivered at the sight of that smile.

„Good work, my lord" she said. „He gave us naught but trouble."

Val spat in his face. _I deserved it._

The red woman looked at him as if she saw through him, and her eyes were sad.

„I warned him, but he would not listen. _Daggers in the dark._ I told him."

He finally spoke.

„I never wanted it to come to this. I begged him so many times. The Night's Watch takes no part... he was wrong. He could never have saved those wildlings at Hardhome, nor avenged your king, my lady."

„I will not believe His Grace's death till I see his body." Melisandre's voice sounded confident but Bowen saw fear and concern in her eyes.

They laid the dead lord commander in an ice cell till they prepared for the funeral. The Lord Steward was ready to give him full honours and he sent ravens to the other castles, inviting the brothers for the upcoming election and declaring that the killers would give their reasons before all the Watch and accept their verdict.

The other conspirators were divided. Some of them immediately regretted the deed, others said they saved the Watch and they should be praised, not punished.

Bowen Marsh was only weary. He had barely slept since that fateful night. When he lay awake, all he could see was Jon's shocked, accusing look. _You too? Why?_

_For the Watch, _he told him, crying, hating himself for what he was doing. But did they really solve anything? If just parts of that letter were true, the Boltons would attack them soon, and there were the Others whom Bowen would have liked to forget about but he couldn't. _We have but delayed the inevitable doom a little. _

Sometimes he wished they would come soon, that this endless waiting would end. At least he would die sword in hand. _And likely rise again as their servant._ The thought made him feel sick. He only hoped wights had no memories of their former life.

_How will I justify my actions if I myself believe them wrong?_

He couldn't tell how and when the conspiracy began. There were whispers, complaints, half words… he listened to them but he tried to defend Jon's decisions, even if he agreed with the disaffection. How did it come to secret meetings? Whose idea was they should all strike him to share the blame? He couldn't remember. His mind was as tired as his body.

He was sure no one suggested what they should say when they assassinate their Lord Commander. The words came to them naturally. They said what they believed. For the Watch.

Brothers from the other forts were arriving the last three days, most of them confused and unsure what to think. Even Dolorous Edd had no sarcastic remarks, he was oddly silent.

The evening has come when they all gathered on the main courtyard to witness their Lord Commander's body given to the flames. The direwolf stood by. He was unusually calm since his master's death, he didn't attack anyone as they feared, but he would not leave Jon's side.

The Queen was absent but Lady Melisandre came and stopped beside Bowen for a moment.

„I have looked into my fires" she said.

„What did you see, my lady?"

„Azor Ahai will return in glory tonight."

He shook his head.

„I would be as glad as you if Lord Stannis would be alive" _better him than the Boltons_, he thought, „but there was no word of him, not a single raven. The whole North is as silent as a graveyard."

„You will see, my lord" she said. Her ruby pulsed bright, brighter than on the former days.

Before the brothers and the wildlings, surrounded by his fellow conspirators, Bowen Marsh stepped on a stand to speak. He looked down on the pyre where Jon lay, dressed in black, pale as ice, untouched by decay. _Cold preserves._

„Brothers, I stand before you as both accuser and accused" he said. „You have every right to know what happened and why."

He told them everything honestly, beginning with the many problems, the Lord Commander's plans with the wildlings, the opposition between the three groups, their endless pleas, and then about the letter and Jon's decision to leave the Wall and go south.

„As a man, he was right. Anyone in his place would've wanted to save his sister and to kill that abomination of a man that is Ramsay Bolton. But as Lord Commander of the Night Watch, he was committing treason by doing so. The punishment for breaking our vows is death. Despite our differences, I respected and loved Jon as a brother, but I loved the Watch more."

He looked around. The torches it the yard enough to see well. Most men looked shaken by what they heard.

He was calm now. He drew his dagger and held it up.

„Brothers, our case is for you to judge. If you think I have done wrong, I have the same dagger for myself." He meant it.

There was a silence.

Bowen Marsh waited for a while, then he descended.

„Let us give Lord Snow the final honours."

The red woman lit the pyre. Dancing flames encircled the body, their orange light painting the Wall. _How playful they look_, Bowen thought, exhausted after such a long speech.

It was then that the flames suddenly lashed high and they had to withdraw because the fire became too hot and too violent. Bowen noticed the stunned look on Lady Melisandre. Something was happening, something unnatural.

The white direwolf who was thought to be mute ever since they knew him, howled.

Horns from the south responded to the wolf's howling. Too close. An army was coming up to their gates, where were the sentinels looking? Amazed by the fire, Bowen thought. And while it was still burning bright, the guards at the gate shouted they see the fiery heart on the banners, and among them the colours of Umbers, Mormonts, Manderlys and other northern lords.

The relief was almost visible in the air.

King Stannis rode in with his escort of lords. Besides king's men and queen's men, Bowen Marsh recognized Lord Manderly, Maege Mormont and one of her daughters, a few Umbers and some more Northmen. A small, middle-aged man in grey-green also rode with them, Bowen thought he had seen him before but couldn't recall his name.

Lady Melisandre ran to her king as he dismounted but Stannis stopped her with a grim look and grunted: "Don't forget about yourself, woman!"

Bowen could have sworn she intended to kiss him before everyone. _Good gods_.

Even the Queen appeared with her daughter. She greeted her husband much colder. Stannis gave her a dutiful kiss and embraced Shireen briefly.

Before they could explain anything, suddenly the fire attracted everyone's attention again. In the towering flames, strange images showed. Judging by the faces, everyone saw them just as clearly as Bowen did. He often heard from Melisandre that she saw things in her fires, but he had always thought it was a special ability. How could now everyone share the same vision? The king, the queen, the lords and ladies and the watchmen all looked on in awe and confusion.

_On a tourney, a silver-haired knight in black armor placed a crown upon a maiden's same couple stood before a heart tree, hand in hand, their witnesses a red-haired youth with griffins on his tunic and a knight of the Kingsguard. An elderly lord clad in armor burned while terrified men and women watched. The maiden, dressed in blue and now pregnant, cried in a tower. In a river red with blood, a battle raged, a man with antlers on his helmet and a huge warhammer in his hand charged on his opponent. Rubies flew like drops of blood when the hammer hit the dragon knight in the chest and he fell on his knees, whispering a name. In a great hall three knights in the white of the Kingsguard drew their swords. The maiden lay dying on a blood-stained bed, a wind of blue rose petals blew through the room. A dark-haired young man knelt by her side weeping, holding a newborn babe in his arms. She whispered something and smiled as life left her. A blue flower grew from a chink on the Wall. A young warrior, the spitting image of the maiden, drew a flaming sword in a sea of Others._

Then the fire went out like a candle in the wind and suddenly they stood blind.

After gazing into the flames for so long, their eyes needed time till they could get used to the light of the torches.

Where the pyre had been, the young warrior they just saw stood in the ashes, armored in black ice, untouched by the flames.

Some in the crowd screamed or just gasped in disbelief.

Bowen couldn't move, he stared at the vision of the dead man who was alive. He couldn't be a wight, his eyes were not blue, and a wight would have burned. A man would have burned too.

His blood felt so hot in his veins as if he had a fever. Maybe he did.

_I have surely lost my mind. _

But the mirage didn't disappear.

When the Lord Commander stepped forth in the light, they all saw the sigil on his armor, made of rubies and milk-white pearls: a dragon and a direwolf, embracing.

Ghost jumped at his master and the Lord Commander embraced him, burying his hands in his white fur.

"Thank you, friend" he said.

Now that they saw the animal greet him just as he did when he was alive, some of the men seemed less scared, although they still kept a safe distance. The red lady just stared at Jon Snow as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

It was the king who spoke up.

"Fear him not" Stannis said and he stepped closer to Jon. "He's just as alive as you or me."

The boy – _not, not a boy anymore_, Bowen thought – looked into the king's eyes for a long moment. "So it was a lie after all."

"It takes a better man than Bolton's rabid dog to kill me."

"I was trapped in Ghost. I do not know how fire could bring me back" the Lord Commander said. "Is this some sort of sorcery?" He glanced at Melisandre but she shook her head, her face making clear she had no idea either.

"It was a power we do not comprehend" Stannis said. "It has to do with who you truly are."

"Your Grace seems to know something I do not." Jon seemed to be deep in thought.

"Edd, bring me my sword" he said finally.

When he was given Longclaw, he drew it and it burst into flames. It was so hot Edd and Stannis took a step back.

Even in his despair, Bowen had the urge to laugh when he saw Melisandre's reaction. She stood there as if she turned into stone.

"You were mistaken, or downright blind, my lady" Stannis said. "Whom you sought for is him, not me."

"But why me? Who am I? Ned Stark's bastard. There's nothing special-"

"There is. And your rebirth proved it. Your sigil proves it." Stannis turned to a man in his escort, the one who wore grey-green. "Lord Howland, tell them."

The lord of Greywater Watch stepped forth.

"This will be a long tale. Is there a warmer place we could go?"

"Yes. The Great Hall" Jon said. "I know you. Father told us you saved his life, back there in the Rebellion."

Howland Reed's tale gave a meaning to all those wild visions in the fire. It was a story worthy of a poet's lyre, full of tragedies and betrayal and death. And hearing who Jon really was made Bowen shiver. _What have we done?_ Glancing at the Lord Commander who sat among them, between Stannis and Lord Manderly, listening to Howland Reed in confusion and wonder, he was still not sure this wasn't all a dream of his guilty imagination.

There was a big silence after Lord Howland finished. Not only was Jon Snow legitimate, but he was named King in the North by the late King Robb. What of Stannis? Will he now fight against Jon? The King sat there with a grim look. He might have known of Jon's parentage but the will apparently came as a surprise.

It was Jon himself who broke the silence. He stood up, stepped on the table so all could see him well, and spoke.

"Our main concern here is not bloodlines and not the Iron Throne. My place is here, even if my father was a Targaryen, I am a Stark at heart. We have a war to fight, here, against the Others."

"With King Jon!" Some Northern Lords shouted. "Take up the Young Wolf's banner! Lead us!"

"No, my friends! You made Robb a King and it eventually killed him. My birth doesn't matter. I am a brother of the Night's Watch. Remember Maester Aemon. He could have been a king, but he chose duty. I do not lust for power. My purpose is to defend the realm. But that will need us to be one. Watchmen, wildlings, Northerners, Southerners. We have a common foe, merciless and inhuman. Let us be the shield that guards the realms of men!"

There was an uproar and the men all stood and cried out.

"Yes! Well said!"

Jon jumped off the table and turned to Stannis.

"You are a wise man, Lord S-" the king hesitated for a moment, then decided for a simple "Jon."

_Wise not to force me to kill you_, his eyes said.

Jon looked back without fear.

"I declined your offer to be Lord of Winterfell twice before. Nothing changed. And now, we must needs find place for all our guests and prepare for the fight."

Stannis nodded and they both began to make their way out, followed by Lord Howland and some other Northern Lords. The red woman immediately got up and planted herself beside Stannis. She didn't seem to trust these men who just five minutes ago would've made Jon their king.

Bowen needed to talk with him. Now or never.

"My lord-" he began when he stood before Jon.

"Stay away from him, traitor!" Maege Mormont showed him her axe.

"No, my lady, let him be." Jon stepped closer. "What ails you, my lord? You are pale as a ghost."

He searched for words but he didn't know what to say. How could Jon talk to him like this, care for him, look at him friendly? He was overwhelmed with guilt.

He fell on his knees.

"Kill me."

The hall became silent once again.

"Bowen, do not kneel before me."

"I betrayed you. I murdered you." He handed him his dagger with the hilt. "Take it. Stab me like I stabbed you."

"I wanted to desert my post. You did what you thought best for the Watch."

_My own words, thrown back at me._

"My lord. Please." His eyes begged. "Kill me. Or have me executed."

"Do what he says" Stannis interrupted. "Execute all the men who killed you. A traitor deserves nothing better than death."

Jon gave him a glare.

"He belongs to the Watch, and his case is _my_ concern, Your Grace."

The King made an impatient gesture. "Why am I even trying to talk some sense into you? One day your good heart will be your downfall. Remember my words when it happens."

Jon looked at Bowen again.

"Take your dagger back, my lord. I do not want to spill your blood."

Bowen didn't move. "Is this your revenge?"

"You do not deserve death." Jon grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back to his feet. "I know how death feels, my lord, and I will not make others taste it without a reason. So put your blade away."

He sheathed it but he could barely stand. That heat inside would not leave him and he felt dizzy.

Jon still held him.

"You have a fever" he said, now truly concerned. "Did you even sleep lately?"

"No. I could not." _Please, let me go now, don't be so kind, you're only making me feel more ashamed._

"Bowen. Listen to me." Jon looked in his eyes and his face was serious. "I forgave you. Try to forgive yourself."

He sighed and didn't answer.

"Visit the king's maester", Clydas told him when the crowd began to break up, but there was too much on his mind. He walked out on the courtyard. The cold cleared his head a bit and he knew he should go to bed, or at least drink some mulled wine. Yet he found himself sitting on a snowy bench, staring at the Wall.

A man walked up to him.

"Mind if I sit here, my lord?"

He recognized the accent and the hat. It was the Braavosi banker.

"You're welcome" he said. He didn't wish for company but he didn't want to be rude.

"I have seen much of the world" the Braavosi said sitting down. "I witnessed many wonders, but never a man coming back from death."

"I don't think any of us did." _Couldn't you just leave me _alone_?_

"_Valar morghulis_. Have you ever heard this term?"

"No. But I heard you there in Braavos worship Death."

"Isn't it the only sure thing, my lord?" The banker was silent for a while then gave him an odd look. "You asked for death."

"I did."

"You Westerosi seem to fear it. Yet you don't."

"I deserve death by all our laws. He just chose to be merciful."

"And now you don't know what to do with his mercy."

_How can it be that a stranger understands this all? _

"None of your fellow conspirators seem concerned. They are happy they got away with this."

"I felt terrible from the moment I stabbed Jon. It was wrong. I am not a killer, Lord Tycho."

"You should get in. It's really cold. Come."

He let the man lead him. He was so weak he probably couldn't have made it back alone.

"Thank you for your help" he said. "Good night."

"Good night, my lord. I have yet to have a word with the king. Have some rest."

Bowen entered his study. It was cold, the fire burned down hours ago. He staggered to the desk, threw his gloves down and lit the candles. He took his papers and put them in a drawer, then he poured some wine. It was strong but he downed it quickly.

Then he fell on his chair. _Yes, Jon was right, I am ill. _He pressed his icy hands against his burning temples and it gave a temporary relief. But he was shivering and at the same time hot. His heavy black cloak didn't help. The cold was inside.

_Have some rest_, the Braavosi had said.

The steel made a creaking noise when he drew it from the sheath.

He held it tightly and drove it in his stomach to the hilt.

The pain was much worse he would have imagined, but he didn't scream_. No. Keep what little dignity you've left. _Somewhere he found the force to pull the dagger out. It slipped from his weakened grasp and he pressed his hands on his wound. The blood was gushing and it quickly soaked his tunic and his surcoat and soon formed a pool around him.

_Mayhaps it will wash away my crimes._

It did not take long before he fell from his chair, dazed from the blood loss. Even breathing hurt now, but he choose this painful and slow way himself and with the last fragments of his will he kept silent.

Then the light of the candles grew dim, the pain softened and then there was only peace.


End file.
